


On Wings Of Steel

by Misachan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Forbidden, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rescue, Slash, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misachan/pseuds/Misachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may serve on the same airship but Dean knows regular crew and the elite who wear the Seraphim Star aren't supposed to have anything to do with each other.</p><p>It's a regulation Dean's more than willing to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art Masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/34696) by otplaptopandme. 



> Thank you as always to the fabulous aerilex and especially to otplaptopandme for being the best partner anyone could ask for. Title from "Icarus" by Kansas.

There was no ignoring the commotion on deck. Not that Dean didn't give it his best shot; there was no such thing as “off duty” for the engine corps, Dean knew that better than anyone, and time for shut eye was to be prized above anything.

The next jolt from above was loud enough to make Dean finally give up. And anyway, if the Angels were back it just meant work was about to start anyway. 

Dean climbed the ladder to the upper deck, the airship taking a sudden lurch that drove his stomach up into his throat. Unlike most sailors Dean could never quite put out of his mind that they were all flying in a two ton hunk of metal thousands of feet in the air. He could work through it, his air legs were as steady as anyone's but that never meant he had to like it.

Dean realized he was still standing midway up the ladder. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that these advanced steamships hardly ever crashed (except for all the times they did) and forced his legs to carry him the rest of the way up to the swirling smoke and steam of the deck.

The air was heavy and humid; Dean guessed they were climbing back up through the cloud cover and pulled his goggles over his eyes to keep out the engine steam. He wasn't the only crew member who'd come up to gawk; he caught Ellen's eye as he pulled himself on deck. She put one finger over her lips and nodded over toward mid-deck; Dean crouched next to her, giving the deck a visual sweep. 

He almost fell over when he spotted Michael standing barely twenty-five feet away. Tall and blond and arrogant the Seraphim general all but demanded attention but Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd deigned to grace the deck with his presence. Dean hadn't even known he'd been on board. “When did we pick him up?” he whispered to Ellen.

“Last supply drop,” she said. “I heard he's doing a tour of the fleet, guess it's our turn.” 

“He don't look happy.”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “I don't think his gauge goes up to happy.”

Either the wind or the ship changed direction, it was hard to tell sometimes, but all Dean cared about was that now he could hear what they were saying. “...ask you again, _did anyone see you_?” 

Dean shifted over a few feet for a better view; that was Castiel's unit getting chewed out, Rachel and Hester and Inias with Cas standing in front like he was getting ready to jump on a grenade. The right side of Castiel's face was red and looked like it was swelling up, too fresh to have happened on the ground. Dean wondered if Michael had hit him.

Michael was not winning a whole lot of points with Dean Winchester.

“ _No_ ,” Castiel said, his eyes lowered but his hands tight fists at his side. “As I've already said. Sir.”

“Then why do I have reports from the ground telling me otherwise?” Dean saw him pull a handful of telegraph dispatches from his coat pocket. “'Shapes in the sky.' 'Enormous birds.'” He threw the dispatches to the ground with a dramatic flourish that made Dean wonder if he'd practiced it. “Those sound like 'sightings' to me.”

“Well...not _legally_.” 

Dean grinned, silently congratulating Cas on finding some wiggle room. Class one sightings weren't write up offenses and these didn't even sound up to those standards. He didn't know what Michael was getting so bent out of shape about.

Whatever it was, Michael didn't seem like he was about to let it go. “Captain,” he said, and Dean saw Castiel go to tighter attention at that, his hands behind his back. “Tell me the two core principles of the Seraphim..”

Castiel swallowed hard enough for Dean to notice. “Secrecy and silence.”

Michael nodded. “That's right. I don't know what kind of discipline you've been operating under -” Dean saw Cas' hands clench at the criticism – “but any ship I set foot on will be the tightest in the fleet. Is that understood?” 

Castiel nodded but for reasons Dean couldn't fathom Inias chose that moment to speak up. “It's not the Captain's fault sir, it....” 

Castiel put up one hand to shut him up but the damage was done. “It's beginning to look like poor discipline is epidemic on this ship,” Michael said, looking right at Castiel. Dean noticed Rachel staring daggers over Castiel's shoulder, followed her sight lines and saw Balthazar skulking against one of the bulkheads. Dean wondered if she expected him to speak up too; he was the unit's outflyer, the one who scouted the drop; if there was something wrong with the placement that was probably on him. 

Not that it mattered, really; Castiel wore the captain’s stripes, that meant he had to stand there and get chewed out. Military was military and Dean had absorbed enough marine training from his old man to understand that. Didn't like it, but understood it. The next thing Castiel said did prick Dean's ears up, though: “I've reported the apparatus' icing problems more than once. If my unit can't maneuver I don't know what you expect -”

“I expect _perfection_. Is that understood?” Michael stepped forward right into Castiel's face. “Answer, solider.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We will not have this conversation again. Dismissed.” 

Dean watched as Michael stalked off without a backward glance, heading below deck to where Dean knew the cushier private quarters were located. “Guess that's why that level was being spit shined all last week,” he said, mostly to himself. He nudged Ellen, nodding back to Castiel's group; the wind had changed again and he couldn't hear what orders Castiel was giving them, although none of them looked happy. “You ever hear anything about those things icing up?”

“Stop it.”

“What? I didn't do anything!”

“You're _thinking_ about doing something.”

“I can't ask a question?”

Someday maybe he'd be able to bullshit Ellen Harvelle, but it didn't look like today was going to be that day. “You're engine corps. You're _head_ of engine corps. You have enough work, we all do.” Which was true; the engines on these big ships were intricate, terrifyingly delicate wonders; if even one gear went missing a whole ship could disappear down beneath the clouds and never be seen again. Then Ellen sighed. “And yes, I have. It's been a problem since the weather turned. They've lost a few to it.”

“Who's in charge of their gear?”

“You know our side and their side aren't technically supposed to acknowledge each other's existence, right?” Dean gave her a sideways look, earning himself another sigh. “I'll run interference for you.”

“Run interference for what?” he said, already only half listening. He watched the way the gears and levers fit together and Castiel and his group folded down their gear, trying to draw the mental blueprints in his head.

If he could fix the engines taking a crack at those should be no sweat at all. 

He startled when Ellen patted his shoulder as she got up to leave. And anyway, the little confab Castiel was holding broke up at the same time and Dean took note of the directions everyone headed in; Castiel started to make his way over to where Balthazar was still lurking, rubbing what Dean could already tell was going to be one hell of a bruise on his face. He spotted Dean then, stutter stepping for a second and Dean could see all over his face that he knew Dean had been there the whole time. Dean tried to give him a sympathetic look but Castiel looked away, flushing like he was embarrassed. Dean saw Balthazar look from Cas to Dean as Cas made his way over to him, then roll his eyes before clapping one arm around Castiel's shoulders and herding him away, Dean hoped to get the guy good and drunk. Balthazar gave him another dirty look over his shoulder before they disappeared below deck and Dean was all too happy to return it; most of the angels pretended the rest of the crew didn't exist but Balthazar had done nothing but treat Dean like a _literal_ grease monkey from the moment they'd met. Dean would never admit it out loud, but it was kind of fun antagonizing the guy. 

But enough of that. Dean had already moved on to bigger, better, and technically illegal things.

***

Dean found Inias huddled in one of the mid deck compartments, looking as miserable as Dean had ever seen someone. Picking him out had been intentional; of Castiel's crew Hester and Rachel both carried themselves with the full amount of disdain expected for those who didn't wear the Seraphim star but Inias had always seemed decent enough. And he had tried to stand up for Castiel, which Dean thought should be rewarded even if he knew the Angel's superiors wouldn't agree.

Inias moved over to make room when Dean plopped down beside him but didn't get up to leave, which Dean could only take as the best kind of sign. “Your CO was rough on you guys,” he said, looking straight ahead to continue the fiction that they just happened to be sitting there.

“Our CO is rough on everyone.” He wrapped his arm around his knees. “The captain could have avoided that if he'd left me behind. I was the one who fell out of position.”

“That's stupid.”

“But it is the rule. It's possible I could have been recovered, the enemy hasn't advanced as quickly as projected.”

“The front lines change every second so again, that's stupid. And your captain doesn't seem like the type to be up for that, anyway.”

“You would know that better than most,” he said, giving Dean a sidelong glance that was almost but not quite eye contact. 

Dean forced down the old nightmare that brought up and fished out his hip flask. “Here,” he said, offering Inias a taste. “The day you had, you've earned some.”

“We're not permitted to fraternize.”

“Dude, c'mon. Grog isn't fraternizing. You need real rum for that, minimum.” Inias gave him a doubtful look but Dean supposed that logic held because Inias took a long swallow from the flask, wincing at the taste. Dean wondered if the angels weren't allowed to drink either. This was going to get real fun real fast if that was true. “I heard C---the captain mention the wings were icing. I could take a look at them, if you want. Gotta be a way around that.”

Inias raised an eyebrow. “You're not certified for it.”

“Yeah, well, doesn't look like whoever is certified is doing much good.” He shifted around enough to force eye contact. “I won't let anyone know. I just want to see what I can do.”

Inias looked away but Dean knew temptation when he saw it. He took another quick, guilty swallow before handing the flask back to Dean. “That isn't as terrible as its reputation would lead one to think,” he said, which Dean translated as a thank you. “The captain might like some, after the day he's had.”

Dean stared at him for a long second, trying figure out what he was trying so hard not to say. “He's welcome to come have some.” He shook his head. “But probably not tonight, he's in hot water enough. Michael catches him with one wing out of line he'll probably get lashed.” 

“Our commanders don't indulge in anything as tender as lashing” Inias looked over his shoulder, like he expected Michael to be lurking around the corner. “I should go. I'll be missed before too long.”

“Hey, remember what I said, okay?”

“I will.” He looked at Dean over his shoulder. “Do you know why we're not permitted to fraternize?”

Dean shrugged. “Because your wings run on high-and-mighty, not steam. You mix too much with the common folk you might get them dirty.”

“I'm sure some of us believe that.” Inias shook his head. “It's more that it's a distraction we can't afford.”

“Yeah, right. 'Cause mixing with your lessers might make you screw up.”

“More like we might start caring if we come back.” He nodded to Dean. “Thank you for the company.”

“Hey.” For a second he wasn't sure if Inias would turn around. “Me and the rest of the engine corps get together at the end of the week, blow off some steam. I'm sure no one would mind if you and yours stopped by. Grog only, promise.”

Inias nodded, chancing eye contact one more time before he disappeared around the corner, leaving Dean to finish his flask alone and wonder what those last words had meant. 

*** 

The nightmares came that night anyway. Dean didn't know how long he'd spent behind enemy lines, given up for dead in the no man's land the old timers called Perdition. He'd given up counting the days. There had been no point, no one ever came back after being swallowed up by Perdition Fields.

Dean didn't know why the universe had decided he should be the first. 

The nightmares were always of the Fields but with something different to have him waking up in a cold sweat every night. Sometimes it was sleeping in a trench with a dead body for company. Having enemy troops pass within a foot of where he'd been hiding. How long it took to scrub the blood from under his nails once he'd gotten out, and how sure he'd been everyone could still see it. More often than not the dream was that night Alastair found him half starved and full of frostbite. Found him and _smiled_. _“Well, look what I've found.”_ Dean had never met anyone else who spoke with that sing song cadence and thought he'd throw up if he ever did. _“Why don't you come out of there?” ___

That was enough to startle Dean awake. He stared at the wisps of clouds drifting past his bunk's porthole as his heart jack hammered against his ribs. It helped to remember that as much as there was to go wrong up here what was lurking back on the ground was so much worse.

Finally after a few minutes of hyperventilating it felt safe to close his eyes again. The nightmares always cut short of the night all of that had ended but Dean could picture it so clearly it was like for that one moment he'd had a camera lens behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and pushed all the ghosts of Perdition back down deep; in their place Dean remembered the moon breaking free of the cloud cover for the first night in weeks, revealing the shadows of enormous wings. The shadows came first, then the moonlight showed the source: mechanical wings of gears and metal, the kind of technology only the military and the wealthy had and the kind Dean had always wanted to see up close. It had taken a moment to look past the wings to the man harnessed to them; Dean hadn't really taken in that Castiel was there until he'd looked over his shoulder, blood on his face. Dean never had found out whether the blood had been his own or had belonged to the dead enemy soldier at his feet. “Hello, Dean,” he'd said, the moonlight catching the blue in his eyes and making him look for an instant like the supernatural creature he imitated. “I've been looking for you for a very long time.”

Dean heard a loud thud outside his bunk door, ending any real possibility of sleep this shift. Nothing for it; Dean swung his legs out of the bed and stretched the ache of his back. Shipboard beds didn't lend themselves to sound sleep on the best of nights but Dean knew he was lucky to have what he did. For all that he'd been privately mocking Michael for cushy digs he knew his own were nothing to sneeze at: private, door that locked, bed instead of a hammock. Plenty of guys would toss him overboard for his room if they thought they could get away with it and Dean really couldn't blame them. Being head of one of the engine corps did have at least that much privilege.

Of course it also meant being on call all the damn time. So. Good and bad. Dean hauled himself over to the door to see what had managed to break down in the night; there'd been no alarm raised so it wasn't a fix-it-or-we-all-die emergency. Dean supposed he could give thanks for small favors.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was no work order on the trunk. He looked it over to see if there was a even a delivery time written anywhere but there was nothing, just a big black trunk. Dean shrugged and dragged it inside; other people's sloppy paperwork wasn't his problem.

He crouched in front of the trunk and turned the different sides of the gear lock. For a second he thought it might have been delivered to the wrong bunk – as much as Dean liked his flask some of the delivery boys knocked back enough grog to get an elephant drunk – but when he dialed in the last number of his personal code the lock popped open. 

Dean sat back on his heels when he saw what was inside. Inside their protective cases were five sets of neatly collapsed mechanical wings. Dean wondered if Inias had come up with a story or had just resorted to theft. 

Like they were made of spun glass instead of steel Dean took each one out of their case and laid them out on the floor; there wasn't room to keep them all open but Dean could inspect them all one by one easy enough, making notes of the worn spots and any areas where rust might get started.

One of the cases had a black captain's stripe down the center and Dean gave that one a little extra attention. Castiel's wings needed more attention than the others anyway; either the guy was careless with his equipment – Dean could barely even finish the thought without chuckling – or when he put the squad's gear in for maintenance he queued theirs as priority. “That's the kind of thinking that's gonna get you killed someday, Cas.” 

Dean went over the apparatus with a mental fine tooth comb, keeping in mind to find weak spots that could fall prey to icing. He finally hit pay dirt at the joint midway across the span; there were a double series of gears surrounding the guideline wire and that set up was just begging to get jammed. He took the joint apart, laying the pieces around him and grabbed his tools. To make any real substantial repairs he'd have to block out time in the shop but this was a fix he could do right here. By the time he heard the horns blow first bell he'd replaced the fragile gears on the whole set with slightly thicker, stronger ones that could stand up to a layer of ice and replaced the wires with better insulated ones that would move more smoothly. 

Best he could do for one night; Dean put all the wings back into their cases, cases back into the trunk and parked it back outside the door. It wasn't very long before he heard the sound of someone lurking outside the door and the scrape of the trunk being moved. Dean wondered if Inias had been watching the whole night. Dean knew he would have.

Dean had just enough time to lay back on the bed before the signal bell started ringing. Dean dragged himself out of bed and raked one hand through his hair. Time for a long, long shift. 

For once Dean didn't really mind it.


	2. Chapter 2

The next drop didn't happen until two nights later but Dean was kept so busy he was glad he'd made a point of tackling the wings that first night. He did make a point of watching the departure, or the tail end of it, anyway; he leaned against one of the aft chimneys, for once not caring about the ship swaying as he watched Castiel strap on his gear. He could tell the guy knew _instantly_ something was different. Castiel looked around the deck and Dean made a point of meeting his eyes; probably it would be smarter to keep it quiet but Dean couldn't bring himself to do it. He _wanted_ Castiel to know.

Dean didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.

Castiel held the eye contact for a full two seconds before turning away. Dean felt his heart climb into his throat as Castiel fastened his goggles and threw himself over the side. As the rest of the crew milled around, dealing with the usual post-drop chaos, Dean approached the edge of the deck with every instinct he had screaming _what are you doing_? He ignored the fear and crept close enough to peer over the edge, one of the artillery ropes wrapped tight around his hands as he stared down into the endless swirling gray clouds.

Already far below Dean caught the glint of light on metal, a flash that came and went so quickly it was gone by the time he could blink. Dean finally backed away, barely noticing that he'd held onto the rope so tight the grooves were deep and red in his hand. He shook his head, forcing all of that down. It looked like it was about to storm and there was a whole list of things that needed to get down to prep for that.

At this point he'd welcome anything that would distract him from wondering why Castiel had looked at him like that before he jumped.

***

Less than an hour before dawn Dean heard the lock on his door pop open. It wasn't like he'd been able to sleep anyway; he turned over, ready to chew out whoever'd decided to just stroll in without so much as knocking. 

The words died off when he saw Castiel standing in the doorway. Dean had left the gas lamp on and the weak light made Cas look pale and tired, an effect only helped along by the fact he was sopping wet. Dean wondered if he'd come straight from debriefing; he even still had his harness on, the wings not completely folded away. “Guess you all got caught in this, huh?” he said, gesturing at steady rain that had been keeping him up for the past few hours. 

Castiel didn't answer. Dean began to wonder if this was going to be a fight. “Say what you're here to say,” he said, leaning up on his elbows.

“Did you tamper with our apparatus?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn't 'tamper' with them. I fixed them. Did it hold?”

Castiel looked like he was trying hard to be angry for a few more moments, then he dropped his gaze. “Considering the conditions I'm not sure the drop would have been successful if you hadn't.”

“Good. That's pretty much the point.”

“Which one of them approached you?”

Dean sat up on the edge of the bed. “I did the approaching. Don't come down hard on them.”

Castiel's eyes made a little sideways cut that told Dean he already knew, probably just through process of elimination. “You'll be lashed if this becomes known.”

“And what about you? From what I've heard the lash is considered having a soft touch in your corps.”

Castiel took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. “No worse punishment than I would receive for coming to you now,” he admitted. He took a step forward, casting a furtive glance around the room as if he thought someone might be hiding in the shadows listening. “One of Rachel's wings threw a rod on the return.”

“She okay?”

Castiel nodded. “The apparatus is still flight worthy, so the piece doesn't seem vital. I'm...the repair won't be considered a priority because of that.”

“I'll take a took at it,” Dean said, answering the unspoken question. “I'll take a look at all of your crew's stuff, if you like.”

Castiel nodded absently, like he could barely believe he was doing this. “I'll make the arrangements.”

“Y'know, me and some of the other engine corps get together once a week. Nothing formal. One of your boys has already shown up, you're more than welcome to come too. Jo likes getting him drunk.”

Castiel just shook his head. “It wouldn't be proper behavior.”

Dean could only roll his eyes at that again. “Life's too short for 'proper.' Especially for someone who spends his life jumping off of airships.”

“My superiors would call that blasphemy.”

Dean shrugged. “Only if they find out.”

Castiel turned away, one hand on the door lever. “Why do you take such an interest in me?”

Dean lay back on the bed, glad Castiel couldn't see how red his face must be now. _Guess I'm not as slick as I'd hoped._ “You probably don't remember, you must've done it hundreds of times since then but you saved my life during one of those drops....”

“I pulled you from Perdition,” he said, the rasp in his voice running through Dean like razor wire. He looked at Dean over his shoulder, just the way he had that night. “Of course I remember.” 

Then he was gone, the lock gears clicking shut behind him.

***

Once you heard artillery fire up close and personal you could never mistake it for anything else. And the sound _carried_. 

The first blast of canon fire jolted Dean out of sleep so hard he wound up on the floor next to his bunk. For a few seconds he stayed there frozen, back to dodging the canon pits that littered the Perdition Fields. Then came a second shot and that was enough to shake Dean out of it; the sound was too faint, too far away to be a threat to him here. He felt the ship tilt as it pulled up into higher cloud cover and braced himself against his bunk, taking a hit from his flask to settle his stomach. 

There was another round of canon fire, a quick 1-2-3 burst, then a few seconds of silence, just enough for Dean to feel his nerves start to settle before another round broke through the silence. He doubted they were firing at the ship; canon range didn't reach up to this level of cloud cover and the airship's own guns weren't answering. It would need to be heavy canon to damage a ship this size anyway, and Dean didn't think the echo was deep enough for heavy shot. Grape or chain, then, not that those were any more fun to be caught in.

It hit Dean then there had been a drop that night. Whatever warmth he'd managed to get from the hit of booze evaporated; he'd been tending to the engines at the time and didn't know which squad was out there in all this, just that he was damn sure they hadn't come back yet. _That_ would have woken him, it always did. 

Dean dressed in a hurry, needing two tries to button up his shirt. He'd just managed to throw on his coat and pull his hat down to shade his eyes when he heard the thud of something slamming hard into the deck. Dean didn't think he'd ever climbed the ladder faster. 

Just as he got his elbows braced on the deck he saw two shapes touch down; he recognized Inias right away and that made the already present dread settle in nice and deep. Dean finished pulling himself up and things started moving very quickly; from the tangle of metal already on deck Dean saw Balthazar push himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head. The on deck lamps were out but the moon was bright enough for Dean to see blood streaming down his face and spattered on his uniform. Then the other shape crumpled on the deck groaned and Dean felt the air on his arms stand on end.

Dean didn't remember crossing to mid deck; as far as he knew one second he'd just climbed up from lower deck and the next he was on his knees helping Balthazar turn Castiel over. “Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.” 

The blood all over Balthazar wasn't his his own. _Chain. Definitely chain shot._ From the shape Cas was in Dean guessed the shot had hit the left wing; that had saved him from losing his head but the impact had been hard enough to turn the wing into shrapnel. His whole right side was peppered with splintered shards of metal, from his shoulder and chest down to his thigh; when Dean eased Cas' goggles off his eyes were wide but not focusing. “Cas, you hear me? You in there?”

Castiel answered in a language Dean didn't know. Balthazar did, though; when he spoke Cas' head turned toward his voice. Balthazar looked like he was all but out on his feet himself; when he reached over to start removing shrapnel Dean grabbed his wrist. “He'll bleed worse,” he said. 

That Balthazar didn't take his head off for touching him told Dean everything he needed to know; instead he just nodded, squeezing his eyes shut like he didn't know what was wrong with him. “I know. I know that.”

“You look like you got clocked on the head pretty good, I'm surprised you're talking straight.” 

“I'm fine.” He barked an order to Inias, who was watching from a distance like a kicked puppy. Dean didn't know the words but Inias jumped to attention, grabbing...Hester, Dean saw, before pulling her after him below deck.

Cas groaned again, shivering as shock sank its claws in deeper; Dean draped his coat over him and hoped Balthazar had sent the other two after the medics. “Keep him awake.”

Balthazar said something to Cas in their language but Dean doubted any of it got through; Cas' gaze swept across the deck as he started push himself up like he was trying to stand. Cas grabbed for Balthazar's arm, agitated the way only someone in shock could get. Dean couldn't make out the words but they were inflected up like a question, although when repeated it Dean thought he made out the word Rachel. 

Dean locked eyes with Balthazar, who just shook his head. “Lie,” he whispered, putting one hand on Castiel's shoulder to hold him down.

Balthazar rolled his eyes, all but radiating _Thank you, I hadn't thought of that_ and that actually made Dean feel a little bit better. Before Balthazar could say a word someone grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. When Dean looked up instead of the medic he'd hoped to see he saw Michael standing there, as cool and calm as if one of his soldiers wasn't bleeding out at his feet. “Get below with the others.”

Castiel tried to snap to attention at Michael's voice, forcing Dean to hold him down again. “Dammit, _hold still_ ,” he said, keeping one eye on the confrontation building in front of him as Balthazar shrugged Michael's hand away.

“I signaled there was live artillery, why didn't you delay the drop?”

Michael didn't so much as blink. “We had a narrow window and the mission was high priority.” Balthazar hauled off and punched Michael right in the mouth. Michael rolled with the punch, smiling for an instant before taking one step closer and grabbing Balthazar by the collar. For a second Dean thought Michael was going to toss him overboard. “Get. _Below_.”

He let Balthazar go with enough force that he staggered, the weight of the wings throwing him off balance. He caught himself before he could fall. Dean saw Balthazar's fist clench again but he didn't take another swing; while those two stared each other down Dean turned his full attention back to Cas, kneeling over him to try to calm him down. “Cas, look at me, okay? Don't pay attention to anything but me.” When Cas still tried to look back at Michael and Balthazar Dean physically turned his face back to him. “That's right. You look at me.” He saw something close to awareness spark in Castiel's eyes. “There you go, Cas. You know me.”

Castiel reached for his shoulder, grabbing a tight hold of Dean's shirt. When Cas spoke the only word he could make out was _Perdition_.

Dean felt his chest squeeze tight. “Yeah, you found me. You've been looking for me, right?”

Cas nodded, his breathing faster and more shallow than Dean liked but at least somewhat calmed down. “You keep your eyes open and on me, okay? No point losing track of me after all that work.” Cas nodded again, his jaw tightening like he was daring Dean to get away. From the corner of his eye Dean saw the medic team finally show, pushing past Balthazar who'd retreated back enough to be out of Michael's orbit but still keep his eye on things. When the medics reached Cas and got to work Dean felt Balthazar's eyes lock on him for a second before disappearing below, a clear threat if Dean had ever felt one.

Dean guessed he couldn't blame the guy. When the medics touched him Cas startled, the panic starting to come back. His hold on Dean got tighter as the medic fit the mask over his face, the sharp tang of ether filling the air. “Yeah, I don't like that shit either,” Dean said. Cas tried to get up again and Dean pressed him back down to the deck. Cas glared at the medics, trying again to get up and Dean realized Cas thought they were trying to get to _him_. “Hey, hey,” he said, holding him still. “Stop fighting the gas. No one's gonna get me. You wake up, we're gonna be back on the ship safe and sound.”

Dean could see the ether starting to take hold and the disorientation from that was mixing with the shock. “Shh. Calm down. I'm not going anywhere.” Cas' eyes blinked twice and then rolled back, his whole body going limp. Dean stepped back to let the medics load him on the gurney, grabbing one of them by the arm as they turned to leave. “I know where you two sleep. Remember that.”

Dean sat back on his heels as he watched them carry Castiel away. That probably hadn't been necessary, Dean hadn't heard anything bad about either of them but he didn't _know_ them. The angels kept everything about their operations so separate they might as well be on another ship sometimes and Dean wanted to make sure they knew Michael wasn't the only person who they had to worry about. He wanted them scared enough that they treated Cas like he was made of _glass_. Dean knew he'd earned a reputation in the Perdition Fields and he was absolutely not above putting it to good use.

And speaking of Michael. The angel general hadn't so much as moved, standing there studying Dean with his head cocked to the side like Dean was a specimen pinned to a slide. “Why did you come up on deck?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. He had to choose his words very carefully now and that was never a skill he'd mastered well. “That true what your boy said? You dropped your own into the canons?” 

“Soldiers are expendable. Missions aren't.” He crossed his arms, his chin raised as he stared Dean down. “Do you want to know how many of my brothers I lost retrieving you?”

No, Dean thought he really didn't need to know that. “Sounds like you regret giving that order.”

“I'd rescinded it, actually. So you can imagine how much blood we spent.” Dean felt a chill snake through him and blamed it on the wind. “Fortunately for you Castiel was already on the ground and didn't know.”

“Don't know why you bothered.”

“Because your brother has a unique mind and we wanted to secure his loyalty. He was the one the enemy wanted in the first place, after all.” Michael stepped forward and Dean had spent enough time around sadists to recognize the gleam in the angel's eyes now. “How are Sam's studies going? Oxford, isn't it?” 

Dean wasn't sure when his hands had first balled into fists. “Cambridge.”

“Of course.” 

“Don't talk about my brother.”

“Don't interfere in my dealings with mine.” Dean would have to be deaf to not hear the threat there. 

Dean had never dealt well with threats. “You don't give me orders.”

Michael smiled like a nobleman condescending to the peasants. “I give everyone orders. And the correct response is 'Sir, yes sir.'”

“When pigs fly.”

“Science is making new advances everyday,” Michael said. “Stay out of our business. You're an important pawn but only a pawn.”

“'Cause you'll sacrifice pawns without a second thought, right?”

There was that smile again. “I'm glad we understand each other. Now, I have a soldier to discipline so I'll have to take my leave.”

It took every ounce of self-control Dean had to not tackle Michael right off the deck as he turned to walk away.

***

“ _'The correct response is 'Sir, yes sir,'_ ” Dean mimicked under his breath, tucking his elbows in to fit in the narrow part of the vent. There were easier ways to get to the angel infirmary but none that wouldn't attract notice, and after the scene with Michael up on deck notice was the last thing Dean wanted. It had been stupid to make a scene with the guy in the first place; airships ran on gossip even more than they did on steam and Dean knew everyone from the navigators down to the coal shovelers were talking about the engine head mouthing off to a Seraphim general. He'd earned a lot more eyes on him than was good for anyone. 

And so the vent shortcut. Well, that was one of the reasons; Dean knew every galley and bolthole and gear in this ship, even the parts he wasn't classified to know and the angel side of the infirmary fell squarely into that category. It wasn't publicly acknowledged that the angels even needed infirmaries; no one published casualty reports for them and their statistics were never included in battle reports. Dean wondered how many of Castiel's Seraphim brothers and sisters had disappeared over the side of one of these airships since this war began.

Although if he was going to be honest with himself Dean knew it was one particular angel he was worried about disappearing into the aether. 

Asking for a report would just get stonewalled, even if he went the unofficial route; if he wasn't classified to know the infirmary existed he sure as hell wasn't classified to know the condition of someone in it. Dean knew from ugly experience that for someone torn up the way Castiel was the first night was crucial. 

Dean remembered that long, cold night when Castiel found him. The canons had been awake then too, keeping Castiel grounded to his obvious frustration. Although he'd tried his best to hide it; _Rest_ , Dean remembered him saying, his hand on Dean's shoulder and his voice as calm and steady as if they were at a resort. _I'll keep watch._ Dean thought that had been the first night in his stay in Perdition he'd actually slept. 

Dean figured it was about time he returned that favor.

He popped the vent screen and slid it to the side as he dropped down, wincing at the echo as his boots hit the floor. He froze, waiting for some security goon to come in and drop him but nothing happened. Dean didn't think he could get more pissed off at Michael but the guy hadn't even bothered to post a watch. 

The ward was silent. Dean felt like an invader as he passed the first pair of empty beds, every inch the unwelcome interloper he knew he was. He tried to keep his steps quiet but nothing stopped the echo, the sound announcing his presence like an on deck horn. Focusing on the noise kept him from imagining what he would do if he didn't find Castiel in one of these beds. Disappeared into the night like so much steam.

When he found Castiel out cold in the last bed next to the wall it took Dean an instant to believe it, he'd already braced himself for disappointment. “Hey, Cas,” he said, even a whisper carrying in that room. There were no chairs so Dean crouched next to the bed, his trained eye studying Castiel for a few long moments. He was pale, paler than Dean thought he should be; Dean wondered if they'd transfused him yet and if not, why. “Probably don't want to waste the blood,” he muttered, checking Cas' pulse. It was weak but steady, about the best he could hope for under the circumstances. The bandaging looked competent, and Dean didn't see any fresh bleeding. That was something, at least. “I'm gonna get into big trouble if they find out I'm down here, so you better not die or I'm gonna be pissed.” Cas didn't respond. Dean supposed it really wasn't much of a threat. “Your CO is a huge dick, by the way. I'm betting he's got the rest of your crew on lock down. I'm surprised he didn't put that jerk buddy of yours in the bed right next to you.” 

Dean watched Castiel's chest rise and fall for a few minutes. “When you wake up your ears are gonna ring for probably the whole day,” Dean said, arranging the thin blanket up around Cas' shoulders. “That's from the ether, so don't get worried about it. And you'll probably feel sick too, that usually takes a day or two to pass. Don't let them give you laudanum if you can stand it, that stuff sneaks up on you.” He rested his arms on the bed. “Hey. I'm sorry about Rachel. That doesn't mean you try to follow after her now, you hear me?”

Dean hoped Cas did. After an instant's hesitation he took Cas' limp hand; Cas' hand felt like ice and Dean thought about stealing a second blanket from one of the nearby beds. If he touched anything they'd know he'd been here.

_Hell with it._ Dean grabbed a blanket and tucked it around Castiel, careful not to jostle him too much. Dean crouched back down next to the bed and took his hand again. “So here's the deal,” Dean said, running his thumb along the callouses crisscrossing Cas' palms from steering the wings. “This time you rest, okay?” he said, leaning close to Cas' ear. “I'll keep watch.”

Dean sat on the floor and leaned his head against the edge of the bed, squeezing Castiel's hand once. He listened to Castiel breathe until his own eyes closed. 

Dean startled awake at five bells. Castiel's hand was still tight in his and Dean thought his color looked better. Even his pulse was stronger. “Good job,” Dean whispered, tucking him in again. He heard the thud of boots on the above deck and knew the first shift crew would be coming on duty. “I gotta go, Cas,” he said with a sigh. “They're gonna wonder where I am before too long.” He thought he felt Cas' hand tighten in his for just an instant and grinned to himself. He stood and stared at him for a few long seconds before retreating back up through the vents. 

*** 

The next time Dean lay awake long after his shift ended his drafting table caught his eye. That familiar black trunk had appeared outside his door two nights before and the table was full of half done sketches and repair blueprints, mostly for Castiel's set. The damage of the right wing was bad enough that he was practically rebuilding it from the ground up and had exposed all kind of defects in the original design. The wings _shouldn't_ have splintered under chain shot the way they had. Dean may not have a fancy Oxford engineering degree but he knew damn well he could build a set of wings better than these. 

From the moment he'd first had that thought Dean hadn't been able to shake it. Dean pulled out a fresh sheet on the pad and started a new sketch. One of Castiel, complete with his standard issue wings; when that was finished Dean leaned back on his stool, his eye picking out every correction he would make. 

He _could_ build a better set of wings.

That he could hear Michael call what he was thinking about _blasphemy_ was the final piece that let him pick up the pencil. 

Dean worked until first bell and felt as rested as if he'd slept like a baby the whole night.


	3. Chapter 3

It was over a month later when Dean opened his eyes in the dark of night, not sure what had woken him, to see Castiel standing in front of his door watching him. “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean whispered, almost startling off the bed. “Don't _do_ that.”

He'd left the lamp on, filling the room with just enough light for Dean to see Castiel's brow furrow. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Why not?”

“There's no need. I know your code.”

Dean wondered if they could just restart this entire conversation. “Okay. Why were you standing there not intending to wake me up?”

“I didn't mean....” Castiel let out a little huff of breath and that was interesting. Angels were hard to shake as a rule and Castiel was no exception. “I came here intending to speak with you but when I found you asleep I didn't intend to wake you to do that.”

That didn't answer the whole _standing around watching you sleep_ question but Dean decided to let that slide. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I've been cleared for duty.”

Dean didn't miss the hint of pride in Cas' voice when he'd said that. “Congrats.”

“Why are you here, Dean?”

The question caught Dean off guard. “Huh?”

“Here. On this ship.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You're the one who parked me here.”

“Why did you _stay_?” There was an edge to his voice Dean didn't understand. “You despise flying. You're just as uneasy today as you were the moment your feet first touched the deck. What made you join the crew?”

Dean leaned back against the wall, propping one arm behind his head. “You know how I wound up in Perdition in the first place? I know your CO does.” Castiel didn't answer, just tilted his head to the side. “The jerk was right, they'd wanted Sam. Never did get a straight answer as to why.” Dean smiled to himself. “When the front line fell I knocked Sam out and shoved him in a trench. Pretended I was him and the dumb mook who found me didn't know any better.”

“Didn't your father do something very similar for you?”

Dean's mouth felt like a desert. “Yeah.”

“The enemy has always been very interested in the Winchesters.”

“Yeah. Found that out the hard way. Shook the mook off easy enough and figured it would take a week to find my way out of the Fields, tops. Guess you know how that wound up.”

“Their leader was one of us, long ago. Did you know that?”

Dean shook his head, not bothering to hide his frown. He had no idea why Castiel had told him that and from the look of him Dean wasn't sure Cas knew why either. “That why this has been going on so long?” Castiel looked away with something that looked very much like shame. “Anyway, when I finally got out of there the military offered Sam a full ride if I stayed on. If I was willing to throw myself at the Perdition Fields to save Sam, fixing a few engines to give him a future didn't seem like such a big deal.” 

“But why here? You could have been anywhere in the fleet. You were offered a place on the flagship.”

Dean wondered if that had been on merit or if Michael had wanted to keep an eye on him. “Yeah, I know.”

“Why didn't you take it?”

Dean almost had. The military had made him a lot of nice promises. He remembered being on the way to sign the transfer orders when he'd walked into the middle of a drop in progress. It had been the first time he'd seen Castiel since Perdition and he'd only had time for a split second glimpse before Cas threw himself over the side, then Dean had lucked into a good long look as the wind caught Cas' wings before he folded them down for a dive. He'd had his eyes shut tight the flight up to the airship and it was the first time he'd actually seen Castiel fly.

Dean remembered deciding to wait the night to make the transfer. Just to make sure Castiel got back. He told himself he'd owed the guy that much. “Good a place as any, right?” Castiel looked away and Dean wondered if he'd seen through that lie. “You mind I stuck around, Cas?”

Castiel did that head tilt again. “No,” he finally said, sounding like he was surprised both by the question and by his own answer. An expression that was dangerously close to a smile flitted across his face. “Balthazar's started calling me by that nickname, too.” 

“You mind me calling you that?”

“No.” 

That sounded very sure. Dean tried to ignore how the way Castiel was looking at him slowly drew his chest tight. “Your turn now,” he said, watching Castiel's brow furrow in confusion again. “Why do you do all this?”

If anything that made Castiel look even more confused. “What else would I do?”

“Whatever you did before you decided to jump off airships.”

Castiel's frown only deepened. “I don't remember a time before I was in the Corps.” 

Dean didn't know if that meant the Corps got them young or just messed with their memories. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. “Guess that's one way to make sure soldiers follow orders.”

Dammit, that had been the wrong thing to say; Castiel's eyes went hard and for a second Dean thought he was just going to leave. “Wars are lost if soldiers don't follow orders.”

“Pretty sure this war was lost a long time ago.” Dean shook his head. “Forget I said that. You said you're jumping in the morning, that mean your gear's back in fighting shape?” Which of course Dean knew it was, he'd done every inch of welding himself but that didn't mean he didn't want to hear Cas say it.

He could tell Castiel knew what he was doing but didn't seem to mind. “Well enough that I know it wasn't due to official channels.” He looked away again, which was just as well since Dean couldn't have kept the smirk off his face if he'd tried. “Thank you.”

“Eh. Fixing stuff is my thing.”

“I...didn't just mean for that.”

The air suddenly felt heavy, like something had gone wrong with the pressure. “You're welcome for that, too.” 

Castiel nodded, turning back toward the door. _Don't go. Stay the night._ Instead Dean said, “Michael told me the Corps lost so many trying to get me that he rescinded the order.”

Castiel winced. “I wish he hadn't told you that.”

That was dangerously close to criticizing a superior officer. _Good._ “He said the only reason you got me was because you didn't know about the order change.” Dean watched Castiel's expression very carefully. “That's not really true, is it.”

Castiel lifted his chin, like he was squaring for a challenge. “No.”

Dean couldn't believe Castiel had admitted it. “You ever defy an order before that?”

“No. Nor since.”

No, but he'd been willing to come damn close a bunch of times. Sneaking into his quarters like this was proof enough to that. Dean lay back on his bunk and stared at the ceiling, a sing-song voice echoing in his ear. “I did a lot of things to survive there, Cas. You were there long enough to know what it takes. By the time you got to me I'd given up caring if I ever got out.” He looked at his hand, expecting to see blood under his nails. “I don't know what court martial is for you guys but I'm guessing it's not fun. Don't know why you'd take that risk.”

“Because the alternative would be leaving you in that place.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a few very long moments. “When I first got ship side the rumor went around that I was a spy. That I'd been let go to see how you all worked.”

He opened his eyes again in time to see Castiel nod. “I'm aware.”

 _No wonder most of his crew looks at me like that._ “You ever wonder if it was true?”

Another head tilt. “I never bothered to consider it.”

“What if it had been true? Would you have let me rot then?”

Dean felt Castiel's eyes study him for a very long time. “No.”

Dean let out a very long breath. “You're such a dumbass.” Castiel looked like he was determined to take that as a compliment and Dean wasn't sure whether he hadn't meant it as one. “Your boy Inias told me that you guys are trained not to care whether or not you come back from drops.”

Castiel's brow crinkled back up in confusion. “That's true. It keeps us from hesitating in the moment. In theory.”

“Care.” When Castiel met his eyes Dean couldn't read the expression there. “I want you to care.”

Castiel didn't respond. A few minutes later Dean heard first bells sound and Castiel slipped back out the door, as quietly as he'd come.

***

“Dean.”

He'd wondered if Castiel would say anything. Since that first night Castiel hadn't taken the chance of slipping into Dean's quarters again, although Dean was careful to hide the blueprints of the wings he'd been working on just in case Cas got the urge. He didn't know if Castiel would be bound by duty to report it and he was so _close_ to done. Practically ready for a test flight.

Dean estimated that Cas had been standing there for an hour or so already. No words, just watching. Dean had decided to leave it be as long as he could stand it and was glad Cas had cracked first. “Are you awake, Dean?”

Dean made a show of “waking up,” as if he hadn't been waiting for Castiel to make some kind of move for ages now. “That you, Cas? What's up?”

“I....” There was just enough light in the room for Dean to see Cas swallow, a nervous gesture that got every inch of Dean's attention. “Would it be all right if I passed the night here?” The words came out in a rush. “The...the heat on our side of the ship seems to be out.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. That had sounded suspiciously like a lie. “You want me to rouse the stokers? They're probably up to their gills in grog this far into the shift but I'll make sure they....”

“No! No, that's not necessary.”

Dean leaned up on one elbow. _No, I bet it's not._ “Yeah, probably not worth the effort,” he said, deciding to play along. “Takes forever for the steam to warm up a ship this big, anyway.” Castiel looked visibly relieved that Dean wasn't pressing things. “You got a drop in the morning?” Cas nodded but that didn't solve any mysteries; his squad had gone on close to a dozen drops over the past few months without Castiel ever feeling the urge to lurk around Dean's bunk. “Sounds like you need the rest, then.”

More relief still. Castiel sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like he'd intended to sleep that way and Dean almost couldn't fight down the urge to laugh at him. “Dude. Bed's over here.”

“There's no need to turn you out.....”

“ _Cas_. The bed isn't _that_ small.” 

Dean didn't know how a guy who jumped off airships without blinking could look terrified out of his mind now. He wasn't the type to back down from a challenge though; before too long he pushed himself to his feet, crossed the small cabin and lay down next to Dean, making very sure to stay on top of the blanket and take up as little space as possible. 

“You usually sleep in your uniform?” Dean said, unable to resist pushing his luck.

“ _Yes_.” The glare he sent Dean's way could ignite gunpowder.

That time Dean did laugh at him, turning over to show Cas a little mercy. He supposed he was lucky Cas had taken off his shoes. Dean closed his eyes, pretending to sleep even though he had absolutely no intention of that happening. He felt Castiel slowly relax as the minutes crawled by but despite his lie he knew Cas wasn't asleep either. Dean didn't know what it felt like to jump off the deck of a ship but he imagined the moment before felt just like this.

Dean heard first bells sound, then second. Just when he almost had actually fallen asleep Dean heard Castiel let out a single harsh breath, then whisper a word to himself that Dean would bet a week's wages was the angelic version of a swear. For an instant he thought Castiel was going to sneak back out.

Instead he felt Castiel lean over him, being careful not to touch him. Dean held very still, not daring to do so much as breathe while Castiel was this close to him. The bed creaked as Cas shifted position and Dean felt Cas' breath against his lips. That second stretched for an eternity. 

Dean could almost feel the moment Castiel's nerve crumbled. When he pulled back Dean grabbed his wrist, the contact enough to freeze Cas in place like Dean had been made of electricity. Dean opened his eyes and saw absolute _mortification_ on Castiel's face and shook his head, pulling Cas back down against him. Cas shivered when Dean kissed him, like it had gone through his entire body. “That's what you came here to do, right?”

Castiel let out another short, frustrated breath. “I don't know what I came here to do.”

Close enough. “Get under here,” Dean whispered, and that made Castiel shiver again. As Cas slid into bed beside him Dean snuffed out the lamp; he thought this would be easier if Cas didn't have to see all the regs they were breaking. “What's going _on_ , Cas?” 

Instead of an answer Dean felt Castiel's thumb trace along the edge of his lower lip. Before Dean could even draw a breath Castiel kissed him, hard enough to press Dean down into the mattress. Dean cradled his head as he pulled back just enough to shift positions, pulling Castiel all the way on top of him. “You ever done this before?” Dean whispered, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. When Cas shook his head as expected Dean pressed one finger over his lips to prevent him from saying anything else. “Follow my lead, then.”

The next time Dean kissed him was very gentle, barely making contact. He curled one hand around the back of Castiel's head, holding him in place as Dean slowly teased his lips open, increasing pressure as Cas figured out how to kiss back. Whenever Cas' lips moved against his Dean could feel it echo through him, like lightning hitting his spine. Cas grabbed a handful of his hair as he started to gain some confidence, the give and take settling into an easy rhythm. Dean decided to get busy freeing Cas from his clothes, moving his hands down to start in on the uniform shirt buttons, being very careful not to rip anything despite every cell in his body wanting him to. Not that Cas was helping much; he'd started kissing down Dean's neck, his lips finding every sensitive inch of skin like he'd been studying a Dean Winchester road map. “I like the way you taste,” Cas whispered without even the hint of a leer, like he'd genuinely made an amazing discovery, and Dean felt his mind all but lock up. 

Getting Castiel out of his clothes became a _priority_. Dean gave up caring about keeping the uniform pristine and it was only a few more seconds before Castiel was naked against him; Dean didn't wear that much and it didn't take him nearly as long. Dean found Cas' lips again as he trailed his hands down Cas' body, seeing him with his fingers. 

Dean was already rocking his hips, hard and close to climax despite himself. He shifted Castiel into better position, feeling Castiel gasp when their cocks touched. “That's what we want,” he whispered, wrapping his legs over Cas' to lock their bodies together. Dean could actually think of a whole lot of other things he also wanted right now but this was good for a first time, all skin contact and sweat and Cas' face pressed into the curve of his neck. Dean felt Castiel's breathing start to stutter and dug his nails into Cas' back; he slid his other hand between them and wrapped it tight around Cas' cock. Castiel let out a whimpering little sound, breathless and shaking and both hands tight in Dean's hair as Dean kissed him again. Dean wanted to taste him as he came, wanted Cas' tongue in his mouth as Dean made him unravel.

He didn't have to wait long. One more roll of his hips and Castiel came against him with a muffled moan, shaking as the climax seemed to take him by surprise. If he'd felt anything like Dean did a few seconds later Dean couldn't blame him; it was far from Dean's first time but this orgasm wrecked him, sending jolts of sensation down his legs and sparks in front of his eyes. If Castiel had been inside him Dean thought he actually might have died.

As it was Dean felt weightless and hollowed out, Cas' body still pressed against him the only thing keeping him on the bed. Dean wrapped the blanket around them, not willing to lose all this warmth yet. “Got something to show you when you get back from the drop tomorrow,” he said, combing his fingers through Castiel's hair.

It was a few minutes before Castiel answered. “You should probably show me now.”

Dean ignored how that sent ice wrapping around his spine. He trailed his fingers down Cas' face until he could tip his chin up and kissed him harder than he'd meant to. “I'll show you when you get back.”

Castiel just wrapped around him like a human snake. Dean only meant to close his eyes for a few seconds, to savor how this felt.

When he opened them again dawn had long passed and he was alone.


	4. Chapter 4

The day crawled. Drop lengths were unpredictable; once they'd spent a full week hovering above cloud cover, almost running through the coal stores and sending two of the shovelers to the infirmary. Dean knew there was no reason to think this would be a short mission but his instincts nagged at him. Cas hadn't been carrying on like this had been routine and something in Dean shied away from imagining what might have been heavy enough to scare him into Dean's bed.

It took until the next night for those unformed fears to crystallize. Those years he'd been lost to the Fields Dean had spent a lot of nights staring up at the stars, knowing that somewhere in the world Sam might be staring up at the same ones. Stationed on this ship Dean had flown under a lot of sky and even before that their father had taught he and Sam how to navigate by them, a trick he'd picked up during his own time in the service. Looking up into the night from over the mouth of the Mississippi and again over the Rockies might show the same stars but they would be very different skies.

About once a week Dean had vivid nightmares about this particular sky. “Ellen,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist as she passed him to get to the barracks. “You know where we are right now?”

He didn't take his eyes from the stars but he felt her start, stopping mid-step. Instead of answering right away she squeezed his hand tight. “Think you know.”

He did. Only one good thing had ever happened to him under this sky. “The hell are we doing here?”

“Might not have noticed, but there's a war going on.” She tugged on his arm, forcing him to look at her. “They've dropped down there before, you know.”

Dean hoped he was only this transparent to Ellen. He didn't much care for the idea that everyone on this damned ship could see into his head right now. “Haven't noticed.” Which wasn't strictly true, but _Yeah, and how many of them come back?_ were words he could barely think about, let alone say.

Ellen stepped in front of him. “Don't you _dare_ do anything stupid. The last thing I need is your father haunting me for letting you throw your life away twice.”

That was almost enough to make Dean crack a smile. “Think we both know that's not his style. And the first time you couldn't have stopped me.”

“Only because you didn't give me the chance. Don't make me tie you to your bunk.”

“Lay off, Ellen, I'm fine.”

“Bullshit someone who doesn't know you. Now promise you're going to act like you have a brain in your head.”

Dean rolled his eyes but she wouldn't let him off the hook. “I'm not throwing my life away. Promise.”

She narrowed her eyes, then looked around as if searching for eavesdroppers. “Good,” she said, stepping close enough to whisper. “You need any help, you call me.”

Dean broke into a real smile that he immediately smothered, just in case anyone really was watching. “You got it. Thanks.”

She shrugged. “Hey. Got used to that bunch, I guess.” She cast one more cautious look over her shoulder. “The whole group didn't go, if you hadn't heard.”

That Dean hadn't heard at all; he hadn't seen any of the unit all day. “The hell?”

Ellen nodded. “Officers only.” She squeezed his hand again and disappeared down the ladder, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts on the deck.

Dean's thoughts had never made the best company. _Officers only_. That meant Cas, he was the captain, and Balthazar, he was the outflyer and the second. Two was the minimum number who could go on any drop, Dean knew that. 

Dean remembered Cas' lips against his. He'd been wrecked by losing Rachel, it didn't take much imagination to picture him arguing for essential personnel only. Especially if he thought there was a good chance this would be a one way trip.

Dean forced himself to the edge of the deck and looked into the swirling clouds past the edge until his stomach clenched up. The cloud cover below was too thick for anyone on the ground to spot them. Dean knew he couldn't have a hope to see Cas this high up but it somehow made things worse that Castiel couldn't look up and see the stars. 

Dean backed up and curled up behind one of the bulkheads, heat from the steam pipes chasing some of the chill away. 

Just not enough of it.

***

Dean startled awake, his neck stiff and aching. The first thing he noticed was that the propulsion engines were running, the thrumming beneath him marred by an almost unnoticeable hitch he'd been trying to soothe out of them for months now. The sky above was still full black, the hunter's moon high; Dean guessed it couldn't be much past midnight.

The next thing he noticed was the sound of Balthazar and Michael arguing. “Let me go back. We're not far past the drop point, you know I can....”

“That is _enough_.” Dean peeked his head over the bulkhead; he could see the two of them roughly in profile, the deck otherwise deserted. Balthazar looked winded but otherwise fine and Dean couldn't suppress the rush of hate that he was the one standing on that deck. “You know the regulations.”

“You can't stop me from jumping.”

“No, but I can give orders to have you shot out of the sky,” Michael said, nodding up to the gun turrets. Dean saw Balthazar's hands ball into fists. “Don't make me.”

Even from where he was Dean could see Balthazar _shaking_ with the effort keep from decking his commander. “Please,” he said, and Dean felt that surge of rage melt away. Dean would expect the ship to come to life and sing before ever getting to hear the snide angel beg. “This is a quick recovery.”

“This is a salvage,” Michael said and Balthazar flinched back like he'd been slapped. “And we do those when it's clear.” He took one step closer. “Do we understand each other?”

Balthazar's lips curled up. “Yes, sir.” 

Michael tipped his chin up, examining Balthazar for a long, piercing moment. “You knew this moment was coming, soldier. It's been a _very_ long time in coming.” Dean felt like his stomach was stuffed with coal. “That doesn't mean we don't grieve, but it means we fight on.”

Balthazar's fists were clenched so tight Dean was surprised he couldn't see blood. “Yes, sir,” he said again, the defiance gone from his voice now.

Michael tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed, then he nodded and spun on his heel like a bannerman in a parade. Balthazar watched him until Michael disappeared below deck, then Dean saw the angel cast a long glance over the side of the ship. 

Dean had to give the guy a grudging amount of credit because he could see instantly Balthazar was going to try to jump anyway. Dean didn't know if the turrets really were manned – they usually weren't this late into the third shift, the low visibility made it not worth the manpower – but Dean didn't put it past Michael to send snipers up there to make sure his threat had teeth. Balthazar started pacing and Dean crept out, waiting for Balthazar to step closer, his breath forming little clouds of steam in the frigid air. 

Balthazar sent one last glance up at the turrets as he popped the release on his wings and that was Dean's cue; he sprang out from hiding and tackled Balthazar to the deck, dragging him back behind the bulkhead before the startled angel could even put up a fight. “Shhh,” he said, clamping one hand over Balthazar's mouth. “The hell is wrong with you?”

Balthazar looked so shocked Dean would have laughed himself sick under any other circumstance. “How are you always around?” he said when Dean backed up.

“Born lucky that way. What happened?”

Balthazar's jaw set for a second, like he was going to not tell Dean just out of spite, but then the fight drained out of him like blood from a wound. “Went bad,” he said, not looking at Dean.

“Yeah, gathered that. He alive?”

Balthazar pressed his lips into a line, then nodded. “Good chance of it, anyway.”

“Okay. Okay.” Dean let out a long, long breath. “What do we do now?”

Balthazar shook his head. “You heard the commander,” he said, some of his usual contempt creeping back into his voice. “This is a salvage mission now. We wait for the weather to clear then a team goes down to get back these,” he said, flexing the wings. “Can't let this fall into enemy hands, after all.”

“Look, if you're not gonna help....”

“I was deserting.”

Dean sat back on his heels. Balthazar's hands were shaking and Dean didn't think that had anything to do with the chill. “You switching sides?”

Balthazar's head snapped up. “Don't be an idiot. I know that's hard for you.” He closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the bulkhead. “I'm just done with all _this_ ,” he said, gesturing around him. “And you know there's only one way we get to leave the Corps.” 

“You didn't strike me as the type.”

“Well, it would have looked convincing,” he said, a faint almost-smile on his face. “I didn't think I would get a better chance.”

“You saw the drop was to the Fields and decided to desert _there_?”

“Can you think of a better place? No one would question.” He shook his head. “I should have realized.”

“Realized what?” Although Dean thought he knew, Michael's words rattling around his skull like a loose bolt. “What did that jackass mean when he said you 'knew this was coming'?”

“Cassie's been a dead man walking since he pulled you out. Didn't you know that?” There was an edge to Balthazar's voice, like getting to be a jerk to Dean was the only bright side he could find. “Once we start defying orders it's only a matter of time.”

“Michael said Cas never got those orders.”

Balthazar just gave him a _look_. “The General's not an idiot.”

Dean knew where the officer barracks were. He could get there without any problems. “You saying this was a field execution?”

Balthazar shrugged. “I'm saying we've been doing more Class A missions than any other unit. You find someone else who's been dropped into the Fields twice and I'll call him a liar.” He closed his eyes again. “Now leave me alone.”

“Yeah, no. Tell me what happened.”

“Not much to tell,” he said, picking a loose button from his uniform and spinning it on the deck. “I missed the rendezvous, he went looking for me. He's not supposed to do that.”

“ _You're _the idiot, then. After what happened with Rachel did you think there was any chance he _wouldn't_?” __

Balthazar could only shrug again. “Hoped he would show a little more smarts.”

 _Yeah, good luck there._ “Why'd you come back up?”

“Spotlight found me, if I didn't they would have _known_ I was running. That would have sparked an investigation, would have threatened everyone.”

Dean could see that. He hadn't really thought Balthazar had been turning traitor but once that rumor started there would be no silencing it. It would be only natural then to start going down the line. “How do you know he's alive?”

“Managed it once before, didn't he?” Balthazar rubbed his forehead, like the ordeal of talking to Dean was giving him a headache. “What will it take for you to stop haunting me?”

Dean didn't answer. The realization of what he had to do had gripped him so tightly for a second he hadn't realized Balthazar had asked him a question. “Can you make sure the aft deck is clear in...I don't know, two hours?”

Balthazar frowned. “What idiotic notion do you have now?”

 _Man, you got no idea._ “They're gonna have you on a leash, you can't get down there. Not easily, anyway. Just get that deck cleared.”

“I...think I can create a distraction, yeah,” he said, one eyebrow quirked up. 

“Good. Good,” he said, his mind already miles below. 

“He's dead as far as they're concerned up here, you know. Officially.”

Dean heard the unspoken warning: _Don't come back._ “What are you gonna do?”

There was something very close to a smile on the angel's face. “Wait for another chance.” He looked around, as if looking for eavesdroppers. “You'll be on a leash, too.”

“Let me worry about that.”

Balthazar stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “I don't understand anything about you, Winchester.”

“I get that a lot. Two hours.”

Balthazar nodded, slipping below deck as Dean watched. He counted off fifteen minutes, then he got up stretching and shaking off the deck grit like he'd just fallen asleep again. As soon as he was down the ladder urgency crept back under his skin; he rushed past his bunk and crossed to the other side of the engine corps barracks. It took a couple of seconds of lingering outside Ellen's cabin door to work up the nerve to knock.

Dean heard the whirr-click of the gear lock before he even finished. “All right Dean, get in here.”

Dean poked his head inside. “How'd you know it was me?” he said, slipping inside as the door started to slide closed again. 

Ellen was sitting fully dressed on her bunk, Jo beside her in a chair with her feet up on a porthole ledge. “Who else would it be?” Jo answered for her, greeting Dean with a little wave.

“So what's the plan?” Ellen said, like they'd all discussed this ahead of time.

Dean chewed the inside of his lip for a second. Instinct told him not to get anyone involved, this was court martial material at best. 

But he needed the help. Cas needed the help. And it wasn't like Ellen and Jo were ever going to let him walk out of here without saying something now anyway. “There might be guys up in the turrets. In about two hours I need them taken care of. Occupied, whatever.”

Ellen raised her eyebrows, then glanced over at Jo. “Ask for a big favor, why don't you?” Before Dean could say anything to that she said, “But I think we can manage. Anything else you need?”

Dean smiled. “You still friends with the weapons locker guard?”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean crouched on the lip of the starboard aft deck, on the little flared projection that marked the airship's class. No one had hassled him and he'd been out there nearly ten minutes by his count; the deck was deserted even for this late into the shift and he hoped that had more to do with Balthazar or Jo and Ellen than luck. The way his luck had been running it was the last thing he wanted to have to count on.

Just looking over the edge pushed his stomach up into his throat. He couldn't see anything past the heavy cloud cover but he knew how high he was and his imagination had no trouble filling in all the details. He braced one hand against the deck as the wind picked up, that new flash of panic beading sweat all over his face and arms. He was going to hyperventilate. He _couldn't_ hyperventilate. Cas was down there waiting, he told himself that over and over like a mantra.

It didn't help very much.

The wings were heavier than he'd expected. The harness dug into his shoulders; he'd sized it for Cas and his shoulders were a shade too broad for the apparatus to fit comfortably. But the wings worked. He'd run them through every test he could think of, no way would he hand Cas anything he wasn't one hundred percent sure of.

Well. Every test but one, he supposed. 

Dean tried to silence the little voice reminding him that he had _no idea what he was doing_ by taking one last inventory. He'd stolen a blunderbuss and two pistols from lock up; the big gun was strapped across his chest and he hoped it wouldn't throw off his balance too much. He felt better having it, though; it was loaded with all the stray bolts and screws and any other shrapnel he and Ellen had been able to scrounge. A blunderbuss was no good at much range but tore through anything in front of it; he'd seen the effects of one up close and personal in his time in the Fields. Nothing better to have at your side.

His hand drifted to the knife tucked into his belt. That had been a gift, although his stomach curdled when he remembered who had given it to him. Sam had asked him once why he'd kept it after Castiel had pulled him back to civilization and Dean hadn't been able to answer.

God, Sam was going to _kill him_ for doing this.

Dean felt the deck rumble beneath him. He heard a muffled _boom_ , then three more, a quick staccato _boom-boom-boom_. The fore deck chimney started belching thick smoke and the ship listed before the supplemental engines kicked in to right it. The klaxons blared on, calling the maintenance corps to duty and warning everyone else to stay the hell off deck.

Dean wished he'd told Balthazar to find some distraction that didn't involve breaking the ship but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. He guessed he had maybe two minutes, three at the most before someone noticed he wasn't down there with the rest of the crew.

Now or never. Dean inched closer to the edge, looking down into the endless gray clouds. The wind blew the acrid engine smoke into his eyes, forcing him to choke down a cough. 

He _couldn't do this_.

Dean ducked his head, sitting back on his heels. He thought about Castiel down there in the cold, maybe hurt. Probably hurt. Dean knew all too well what it was like to be trapped in the Fields and know down to your bones no one was coming for you.

He opened his eyes. It was starting to snow.

Dean thought about Cas being found by someone with a sing song voice. _Well, look what I've found._

Dean jumped.

In that first instant of sheer terror Dean almost forgot to extend the wings. Just at the lower edge of the cloud cover Dean snapped out of it and locked his arms straight, opening the wings full length. An updraft caught him and tossed him back high above the clouds, high enough to look down at the deck of the ship. The airship looked strange and surreal hanging in the air and Dean felt a little twinge of regret that he wouldn't see it again. 

Then Dean looked back up at the stars. At the rate they'd been traveling Dean guessed they'd only gone a hundred miles, still a lot of ground to cover. He adjusted the left wing enough to catch another updraft and angle himself roughly southwest.

Then Dean locked the wings into place and dove.

The wind tore at his face, the wet snow hitting his skin like hard pellets. He'd forgotten to secure his goggles properly and they ripped off, flying high above as he plummeted. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and held on tight; after a mental five count Dean released the wings again and the momentum stop hit him like a canon shot. He opened his eyes and watched the landscape zipping along beneath him for a few horrifying moments, then he shook it off. No going back now.

Dean coasted for a minutes, then dove again, a shorter dive than the first. He couldn't see the stars anymore but he knew the terrain had been tattooed on his mind years before. He kept that pattern, coast -dive, coast-dive, coast-dive, until he thought he might be getting the hang of this.

Then he hit the tree line.

There weren't a lot of trees left in the Fields but Dean figured it would be his luck to hit a group of them now. He tucked the wings tight against the harness and put his arms up over his face as he crashed into the barren branches. Not that it helped much; one branch smacked him on the side of the head and he tasted blood in his mouth. Another caught him in the ribs and knocked the wind out of him; he barely had enough awareness to tuck into a roll as the ground rushed up toward him.

Dean was pretty sure he passed out after that. He came to a few minutes later covered in a thin layer of snow and fought the urge to just close his eyes again. After the usual back-to-consciousness wave of nausea Dean forced himself to sit up; he felt like one big ache and when he touched his face his hand came back bloody but there were no shooting pains and he could breathe without trouble. “Not bad for a first try,” he said to himself.

He tested the wings as he got back to his feet. One of the stabilizer rods had come loose but it only took a minute to ease it back into place and he'd lost a bolt from the right wing outer joint but the apparatus still moved smoothly. Definitely still flight worthy. Dean gave himself permission to gloat for just a second. 

Dean examined the cluster of trees he'd crashed into and any doubts about where he'd landed faded away. There was a corpse tied to the biggest one, bound by his hands and his eyes gouged out. Dean guessed he couldn't have been dead for more than a day or two, even considering the cold; he examined the interrogation marks scored down the corpse's arms and could tell when that had been abandoned, when it had just become pain for pain's sake. That never took very long.

Dean supposed it had been wishful thinking to hope Alastair had gotten himself killed.

But he was close, this was proof of that. “ _Why don't you come out of there?_ ”

He was running out of time.

*** 

After about another half hour Dean found the drop point. The snow was still light enough to outline the tracks in the muddy ground; Dean saw when the tracks branched off and followed what he hoped were Cas' tracks, keeping in mind the scenario Balthazar had laid out for him. Twice he lost the trail and found them again. Once other tracks surrounded them and Cas' turned into drag marks; Dean lost these in the building snow and went trekking off in their direction, but instead of finding the trail again Dean almost tripped over a dead enemy soldier. 

Dean suspected what he would find before he turned the body over and smiled when he saw a single stab wound under the man's sternum, one that looked a lot like it had been caused by one of the short swords all the Angel Corps carried. “Dumb sons of bitches didn't even disarm him.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” 

Dean spun around. A female soldier had snuck up within twenty feet of him without him even realizing it. She was wearing an officer's uniform but Dean didn't know her. “Why should I tell you?”

She leveled a pistol at his head, which Dean guessed was a fair response. “Let's try that again.”

Instead of answering Dean slid his knife out of belt, going slowly enough to make sure she could tell he wasn't going for one of the guns. “Recognize this?” he said, holding the knife up.

She took few steps forward when Dean didn't go for another weapon. After squinting at the knife for a few seconds she broke into a broad smile. “You're Dean Winchester.”

Dean felt like throwing up. “That's me.”

She lowered the pistol and Dean felt even worse. “You know there's a betting pool about whether you were coming back or not? Took your sweet time.”

“You want a job done right, it takes time.” His throat felt like a desert. “Who's your CO?”

“Doesn't me recognizing that,” she said, nodded toward the knife, “say that already? Being up with the birds all this time has made you slow.”

“Been gone a while. Things could change.”

“Not that much. Who'd you kill to get those?” she asked, gesturing toward Dean's wings. 

“Built 'em myself,” he said, putting a snide tone to his voice.

“Yeah, sure you did,” she said, like they were sharing a private joke. “Good news is just falling from the sky tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Now that she'd come closer Dean thought she looked a little beat up herself. “We don't run into too much of that.”

That was too much; her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don't sound surprised.”

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes. “Just 'cause I've been in the sky doesn't mean I forgot how to track. What'd you do with him?”

Her expression fell; whatever she'd been hoping Dean would say, that wasn't it. “Funny story.”

Dean hoped to hell the hope pounding through him didn't show on his face. “You idiots lost him.”

“Let's say misplaced and leave it at that.”

“Alastair know?”

She didn't like that idea at all. “If the two of us move fast he won't have to.” She turned around, beckoning for him to follow.

Dean trudged through the snow after her, careful to unhook the blunderbuss enough so he could swing it up at a moment's notice. This wasn't much of a lead but Dean knew he couldn't complain. Beggars and choosers.

***

Dean had thought hearing Alastair's voice in his dreams almost every night would make the real thing easier. He was wrong. “Well, look what I've found,” he heard from behind, the voice coating him like oil. 

It took a few seconds for Dean to get his locked up muscles to move enough to turn around. Fortunately, his new friend hadn't seemed to notice; she marched right up to Alastair, the flash of fear on her face smothered by a bright, fake smile. “Commander!” she said and Dean couldn't help wincing. That wasn't Alastair's rank, he didn't have a proper one, he operated out of the command structure. Dean wondered how recently she'd been promoted to this post. He guessed the high turnaround of junior officers reporting to Alastair hadn't changed since he'd been gone. “We were just....”

“Of course you were,” Alastair said, even that sounding like a threat. Dean finally forced himself to turn around and saw that Alastair was looking over her shoulder right at him, like she wasn't there. When Dean met Alastair's eyes the other man smiled. “What an interesting day this has been.”

“We have a good lead on the Angel....”

“Dean, would you kill her for me? I'd rather we get reacquainted in private.”

And to Dean's horror his hand started going for his knife almost before Alastair finished speaking. Back in the Fields an hour and he was already a breath away from killing again. “What happened? You lose your touch?”

Dean didn't really believe in praying but he couldn't help himself from praying for a little forgiveness as Alastair shrugged, stepped forward and slit the soldier's throat. “I suppose I do need the exercise,” he said, like they'd been talking about going for a quick jog. 

All the same, Dean barely noticed the woman's body fall twitching into the snow. He was too busy staring at the silver short sword in Alastair's hand. “That's new hardware for you,” he said, putting every ounce of willpower into keeping his voice steady. 

“Do you like it?” Alastair asked, holding it up. The only light was the dim glow of the medallion light Alastair wore and the sword still gleamed. “I found it in the snow bank. Someone must have dropped it.” All this time and Dean still could never tell when Alastair was lying. Then to Dean's surprise Alastair sighed. “Did you go native up there, Dean?”

Dean couldn't breathe. “What do you mean?”

Alastair sighed again, like a disappointed father. Dean's own father had looked at him like that more often than Dean cared to remember. “We had a plan, you remember. You were supposed to come home almost a year ago.”

“I wasn't ready.”

“No. I supposed you weren't.”

Well, Dean guessed there was no point in playing along anymore; he raised the blunderbuss, bracing the stock against the shoulder. “Where's the Angel?”

“I'm looking for it myself,” Alastair said, as unperturbed as if they were talking about his in a tent over a warm fire. “Come with me.”

Dean shook his head. “I'm not like that any more.”

“Oh Dean,” Alastair purred. “You were _born_ like that. You know that, don't you? That's why we always got along so well.” He took two steps closer. “You remember what it was like before I found you, don't you? When everything here was hunting you? I took you in. I taught you my trade,” he said and it took everything Dean had to not throw up all over his boots. “Is that what you want to go back to? No one here will treat you as well as I did.” Two more steps closer. “Do you remember what you told me the night before that thing found you? That I didn't have to worry because this was home now. You said this was where you belonged.”

Dean pulled the trigger. “I know where I belong.”

He'd forgotten how blunderbusses kicked; he hadn't braced enough and the recoil knocked him flat on his back hard enough to knock his head on the frozen ground. He didn't quite pass out again but it took a few minutes for his vision to clear enough for him to get up. He staggered over to where Alastair had been standing and only found a bloody smear in the snow, bloody footsteps leading away in an uneven line. Dean had never seen anyone survive a blunderbuss hit but he couldn't find it in him to be surprised that Alastair might be the first. 

He took a step forward to track Alastair down, finish the job, when a metallic gleam caught his eye. Dean crouched down and picked up Castiel's sword, brushing some of the snow off the blade. “Sorry, Cas,” he said, sliding the sword into his belt. “Got distracted.” Dean stood back up, staring down at the blood trail, then turned away and headed back into the snow.

***

He picked up the trail after about another half hour of searching. Dean could tell from the tracks that Cas had been in the cold too long; the tracks were weaving and he could see where Cas had fallen once. He thought Castiel might be trying to make for the cave where they'd spent that first night but he'd wandered off course, heading out into no man's land instead of what passed for safety. Dean picked up the pace; there were no real front lines this far into Perdition, just enemies everywhere. Cas had fought his way free once and Dean would be damned if he'd have to do that twice.

And then the trail stopped. 

Dean felt panic freeze him colder than the storm ever could. The snow was falling fast enough now to obscure any tracks; even his own were being covered up almost as fast as he could make them. Dean wished he hadn't lost his goggles; the snow driving into his eyes made it almost impossible to see anything and measly light from his flashlight wasn't helping. 

Time for more drastic measures. Dean pulled a flare out of his belt; this might bring every soldier in the area running but he needed the light. He cleared a circle of bare ground, lit the fuse and ran a few steps back. Bad as the blunderbuss could kick, it was nothing compared to being to near a fire flare when it went off. Dean watched the gear locks on the chemical compartments click open as the fuse burned down, then ducked as the warning siren shrieked like a tea kettle about to explode. 

Then the fuse blew and flew into the sky, for two seconds lighting it up as bright as full noon. He could all but feel the attention of every soldier in the area focus on that glowing dot in the sky. 

Dean didn't care. Just as the light started to fade he caught the glint of something metallic on the ground less than thirty yards away. Dean raced toward it, almost slipping in the now shin-deep snow. When he got close to enough to make Cas out all Dean could see was that he wasn't moving. 

Dean went to his knees beside Castiel, brushing snow off him until he could feel for Cas' pulse. To Dean's relief it was thready and weak but there and Dean turned him over, trying to shake him awake. “Cas!” he said, checking him over. There was a livid bruise on his face and the wings were mangled, probably from when he'd been caught. Dean took out his knife and started to cut away the harness. “C'mon Cas, wake up.” Castiel answered with a weak groan and Dean took that as a victory. “That's good. That's good Cas, all the way now.”

Castiel's eyes blinked open just as Dean finished freeing him from the ruined wings. “Dean?” he whispered. “Is that...Am I dead?”

Dean couldn't help chuckling at that. “No, Cas, not yet.”

His brows furrowed together. “But you're...I must be.”

“Cas, I promise you, you're not. Try to move your hands, I need to see how frozen you are.” 

Castiel managed to make them twitch, wincing like that hurt. “I'm hallucinating then,” he said, like he'd found the answer to a difficult equation. 

Dean kissed him, Cas' lips icy under his own. “Convinced now?”

Castiel's brows just furrowed closer. “No?”

Dean shook his head. “I'll work on convincing you more once we're out of this blizzard. C'mon,” he said, pulling Cas up.

Cas blinked at him, like he was having trouble making Dean out. “Where did you get wings?”

Dean collapsed them down as far as they could go. “Made them for you, they're yours and you're welcome to them,” he said, hoisting Castiel over his shoulder. “C'mon.”

They got to the cave just as the storm built to a full roar, the wind pushing Dean in the last few feet. Cas groaned when Dean dropped him but he couldn't worry about that; he expanded the chemical fire pit and lit it, his nose wrinkling from the smell. The stuff reeked but gave off the same heat as a real fire without the upkeep and that was all Dean cared about. Once that was done Dean turned back to Castiel, starting on stripping off his wet uniform. “Shh, Cas,” Dean said as he started coming back around. “I gotta get this off, it's gonna make you colder.” 

Castiel just stared at him, eyes wide. “This is a...a persistent hallucination.”

“Cas, I'm not....” Castiel leaned up and kissed him, his stiff hands trying to grab onto Dean's jacket. “What was that for?” Dean said, gently pushing him back.

Dean didn't think he'd ever seen anyone look more confused. “Dreaming, so...what I always do then.”

Dean finished easing Castiel out of the wet clothes, sliding Cas' icy hands up against his skin to try to warm them up. “You can do that whenever you want from now on.”

Castiel was shivering hard and Dean moved him closer to the fire, finally getting around to unhitching the wings and shrugging out of his own wet clothes. “I'm supposed to be dead,” Cas said, looking at Dean like he was missing something important. 

“Yeah, I got that impression too. _Fuck_ that.”

“You saved me.”

“Yeah, well. Kind of owed you.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “I didn't mean now.”

Dean settled down next to the next to the heat and tucked Castiel against him, feeling him shiver and pretending he wasn't shaking just as hard for completely different reasons. “Rest and warm up,” Dean whispered. “You'll go back to making sense when you feel better.” 

Castiel let out a little _hrmff_ sound, like he would have argued with Dean if he'd had the energy. Instead he snuggled closer against Dean, his breathing going soft and deep even as his pulse strengthened. “That's right, Cas,” Dean said, reaching behind for one of the pistols. “You rest. This time I'll keep watch.”

*** 

Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep but when he startled awake long after dawn he realized he must have anyway. The fire pit was still going strong; those were usually good for about ten hours so Dean knew it couldn't be much past mid morning. 

Dean also knew that he was alone: Castiel was gone, his clothes and the wings with him. Dean's own clothes were neatly stretched out by the heat to dry, every bit as meticulously as he would expect from someone in the military their entire life, which at least lowered the chances that someone had come in and grabbed Cas while they'd slept. He dressed and doused the pit, no need running down the charge if they didn't need to. “Cas?” he called out, deciding to take the chance.

“Out here, Dean.”

Dean ventured out and found Castiel sitting at the mouth of the cave, the wings Dean had built already strapped on. The storm had blown over and the sky was that almost painful blue that always came after the worst weather; the bright sun caught the steel and shone off it, exactly the way Dean had pictured it looking the entire time he'd been building them. Perdition was the last place Dean had ever expected to find something beautiful. Castiel caught him staring and tilted his head to the side in a question. “It's nothing,” Dean said, moving to sit beside him. “Didn't expect you to put them on so quick.” 

“You said they were mine.”

“Didn't figure you'd remember all that. How do they feel?”

Castiel ducked his head in a way that was almost shy. “Like they were made for me.”

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, the knot that had started growing the moment he touched down here pulling tighter each second. “Everyone was right about me,” he finally blurted out, not able to look at Castiel. “All those rumors, they were true. I was supposed to be a spy. They let you take me.”

Castiel turned to study him for several long, excruciating moments. “No, Dean. _I_ was right about you.”

Dean felt his mouth drop open. “Cas, I just told you I was working for the other side.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, you weren't. Not truly.”

“I don't...how do you know I'm not still playing you?”

That almost got a smile from Castiel. “Because if you are in fact still playing a game it's a very long and incomprehensible one. And because you're not.”

Dean didn't know why he still wanted to argue. It felt like he'd been let off the hook too easily. “I shot Alastair. I don't know if I killed him, but if I didn't he's gonna be pissed. Everyone's going to be out looking for me....”

“Dean, if you're trying to get me to abandon you here please stop.”

“I'm not. Just thought you might want to know what you're in for.”

“I'm well aware.” Castiel looked up into the empty sky, Dean knew looking for the airship that might never be there again. “I'm both dead and not. I don't...I don't know what to do now.”

Well, at least that was a question Dean could answer. “We fight, Cas. That simple. Where we are, all we can do is fight. And on that subject,” he said, pulling Castiel's sword out of its makeshift holster in his waistband, “I think you dropped this.”

The relief lit up Castiel's whole face. “Thank you.”

“Nah, no big deal. Your old wings are trashed, though. Balthazar said they'd be picked up, so we should avoid that whole area.”

If he'd been relieved about the sword that news looked like a hundred pounds had lifted right off him. “So he did make it back.”

“Yeah, and was he ever pissed off about it.”

Castiel nodded, almost looking like he was trying to picture it. “You didn't have to order me to care, Dean. I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to.”

Now it was Dean's turn to look away embarrassed. “You'd probably still be up there if you didn't.”

Castiel grabbed Dean's hand and squeezed. “I know where I want to be.”

Dean couldn't say anything to that for a good long while. “I want to know what's going on with me, Cas. Why they wanted Sam, why you got sent after me, all of it. I want answers.”

Castiel nodded. “Then we'll get some.”

Dean watched the sun glint off the unbroken snow. It was almost hard to imagine all of the horrors hiding under that. “It true I was the only person ever retrieved back from the Perdition Fields.”

Castiel nodded. “It is. No one has ever fought their way back once they've been lost the way you were.”

Dean grinned. That was exactly what he'd wanted to hear. “You ready to make history twice, then?”

Castiel squeezed his hand again. “As long as I'm not fighting alone.”

Dean couldn't help laughing at that. “Cas, that's something you never have to worry about.”

To that Castiel stood up, flaring the wings to full length and that glint back in his eye, the one Dean had first seen at the cave on a very different cold, stormy night. “Then let's get started.

\- fin -


End file.
